


but everything sounds harsher at 2am

by JaguarCello



Series: Cause and Effect [3]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Multi, discussions about a certain alcoholic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 22:25:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaguarCello/pseuds/JaguarCello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre and Enjolras have a Talk about Grantaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but everything sounds harsher at 2am

**Author's Note:**

> gosh so yes forgive me I just wanted the brotp to carry on

Enjolras closed the door behind him, swearing softly under his breath, and Combeferre looked up.

 “Is he asleep?” he asked, glancing over at the abandoned shoes and the broken bottle on the floor.

Enjolras frowned slightly, and pursed his lips together. “Or passed out, yeah. He wasn’t making much sense; we found him in the tube station, and he rambled for a while. Bahorel’s gone home now though – Feuilly’s ill again, and whilst they’re still pretending not to like each other on principle (maybe they think we’ll all think they’re pairing the spares?) – “ but Combeferre cut him off, as he’d been doing ever since they first sat next to each other in Maths at prep school.

  “Oh, and I suppose you’re one to talk about pretending not to like people? Most people – like this,” and he gestured to the door, “would have been kicked out long ago. You always let him come back, don’t you? I mean, you’ll tell him to get out, to stop disgracing whatever protest you’ve dreamed up, but then he’ll turn up at the café and you’ll smile – “ and he looked at Enjolras; they were exactly the same height, although Enjolras claimed to have a millimetre on him (imperial measurements were a relic of the Empire, apparently)– who looked away.

 He sighed, and carried on more gently. “I know you – well, I know you’re not used to relationships. God, how long has it been? In fact, since that time when Courfeyrac – “

 Enjolras interrupted smoothly, as unruffled as if he’d prepared this, although his ears were reddening slightly. “I thought we agreed not to talk about that. It wasn’t a relationship, it was one kiss in the library because of a bet, when the cleaners weren’t looking – “

 Combeferre waved a hand, as if he’d heard all this before. “There were shelves knocked over. Anyway. Grantaire’s not going to stop, you know. Not for you. Not for himself, even, without help. I know what you’re like with causes – do you remember that cake sale that got do out of hand that three boys were hospitalised? And, well:  low chance of success; visible efforts – it’s got the classic symptoms of something you’re going to want to take on.”

 Enjolras stiffened, before visibly forcing himself to relax and sit down on the sofa. “I don’t have _feelings_ for him, if that’s what you’re insinuating – “ but Combeferre barked out a short laugh.

 “Oh, right, you let him sleep in your bed without fussing about changing the sheets, even though he’s sure to be sick all over them? I’m not allowed to sleep in your bed. That time I came back from a cello concert and I had the flu? Your bed was the only one free because Bossuet was recovering from a broken leg in mine, and his had broken with his leg when he’d jumped too high. And I slept on the sofa. I’m not saying you _prefer_ him – “

 Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Is your horrible mood anything to do with the fact that we saw Éponine with her tongue down Montparnasse’s throat and his hands up her shirt, earlier? How can you lecture me on my hypothetical – imaginary, goddamn – feelings for Grantaire, when your mooning is visible from space? He does care about things, you know. I mean, get him started one day on the cutting of funding for creative arts in schools, or the tax on alcohol, or how Prince Charles went to Cambridge without getting the grades. He’s just as passionate about our inability to realise _our_ passions as we are about them. He’s not half as apathetic as you’d like to think – “

 Combeferre rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying I’m not sympathetic. If you like him, and by God we all know he likes you, tell him. Get it out of your system, get him out of your life. He’s a dead weight. I know you’ll think I’m being cold and harsh and cruel – “

 Enjolras laughed, and looked back towards the door. “You’re cold, not cruel. I know why you’re doing this. You’re trying to guide me on my quest – “

 “Oh, you make one Merlin reference and you never live it down – “    but Enjolras talked over him again.

 “But I’m fine, Combeferre. Honestly. I can fight my own wars, and I’ve been living in the big bad world for a while. I know about life, I know about Grantaire’s problems, and I’m not afraid of them. He’s not broken, and I’m not going to fix him.” He stopped, and then seemed to realise what he said.

 “I’ll just check on him,” Combeferre said, smiling at him before pushing the door open. He paused in the doorframe, and then Enjolras heard “Shit, shit, Enjolras! Get in here!” and Combeferre didn’t swear often, so something must be wrong.

 He half-ran across the room, only to see Grantaire lying in his bed where he’d left him, hair clinging limply to his clammy forehead. His skin was grey-blue and his breath was rattling in his throat; before he even realised what he’d done, he’d picked him up (and now he was pleased he’d been forced to do sports for years at school; he could carry him without too much of an issue), and clattered down the stairs and into the car door that Combeferre had opened, strapping Grantaire into the back seat and sitting next to him, holding him upright.

 “Shit, shit,” he muttered under his breath, before realising that Grantaire was past hearing him. “Shit!” he said again, and Combeferre’s eyes flickered over to his.

“I’ll drive,” he simply said, and flicked the heating on, then switched on the hands-free. He was put through to the emergency services, and although Enjolras tried to listen (not breathing properly, pulse sluggish) he soon tuned out Combeferre’s words and focused on Grantaire. His breathing was rapid and shallow, his chest barely rising with each breath. 

 “Where the fuck is everyone else?” he said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice (because he didn’t know how he’d got the alcohol when there were no off-licenses on the way to the tube station). Combeferre’s eyes met his in the mirror.

 “They went to Corinthe. Apparently Courf wanted to try the food again, to see if it’s got worse. We stayed because exams tomorrow,” and then he fell silent.

He didn’t speak to Enjolras when the doctors arrived, or when they pumped Grantaire’s stomach, or when they put him on a drip that took three tries to find a vein he’d not ruined himself; he didn’t speak to him when he was given a handful of leaflets about addiction and problem drinking; he didn’t speak when Grantaire threw up on an empty stomach, or when Enjolras woke up with a stiff neck from the plastic chairs.

  He didn’t speak until the following morning, an hour after the exam had started. They were sitting in the hospital café clutching coffees and waiting for Grantaire to pad down the hallway in his socks, when he suddenly looked at Enjolras.

 “I hope he’s worth it, you know. You’ll undoubtedly be good for him, and he envigorates you and enlivens you even when you’re dead on your feet, but I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not. Yet. I’ll give it time.”

 Enjolras nodded once, and then stood up, bag full of vomit-stained clothes in his hand, as Grantaire rounded the corner unsteadily. His hair was lank, slashing shadows under his eyes.

 “Time to go,” he said, and they wondered how his voice sounded so normal when he’d had a tube down his throat all night. Combeferre looked down at his feet, and then, sighing, passed him a pair of trainers he’d liberated from lost property.

 “Thank you,” he said, and Combeferre smiled wearily.

 “Come on,” Enjolras ordered, and as it had always been, he lead the way, Combeferre at his side, and then, trailing behind, Grantaire. 


End file.
